


faster than my bullet

by cerie



Category: The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: F/M, New York Marathon, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-02
Updated: 2012-12-02
Packaged: 2017-11-20 01:32:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/579830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cerie/pseuds/cerie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pre-series; During opposition research, the team discovers Will once ran the New York Marathon and didn't finish.  Mac supplies that it's entirely her fault.</p><p>She doesn't go into just precisely <i>how</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	faster than my bullet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [millepertuis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/millepertuis/gifts).



“You really want to do this?”

Mac isn’t entirely certain why Will is giving her a shifty look when she suggests she wants to run the New York Marathon. She’s in reasonable shape and there’s no better motivation to keep pushing her exercise regimen than to have a goal in mind. Maybe the goal’s lofty (and it is - 26 miles is quite a lot) but she thinks she can do it. Besides, she and Will run every day. What’s multiplying that by 26 in the grand scheme of things?

“Absolutely. Scared you can’t measure up? Scared you’ll get beaten by a girl?” Will snorts and shakes his head. He’s not in the best of shape but he’s in good shape for a man his age and his long, lean legs tend to push him faster and longer than Mac can manage. In truth, she likes running mostly so she can watch Will run. She’s never really pretended to be noble.

“No. Just reasonably sure you’re going to flake out halfway through the training program. This isn’t couch to 5K, MacKenzie. This is couch to practically the Olympics. There are people who train for years for this. You don’t just up and decide to do a marathon.”

Mac tosses him an annoyed look and sets her jaw, stiffens her shoulders. One thing she’s never been able to stand is being told that she _can’t_ do something.

***

The first week of training is brutal. While she and Will normally jog a leisurely three-quarter to a mile every morning before heading into the office, this is a hell of a lot different. It’s also not exactly the best of circumstances when all hell breaks loose in Lebanon and they’re all scrambling to get the story. It’s hard to run when she’s going on snatches of sleep and she only manages half a mile before she’s clutching her side, face clammy with sweat.

“Will! Slow down. I’m not...maybe the double coffee wasn’t such a good idea this morning.” He, of course, is still jogging along at a nice clip and only when he realizes she’s not whining just to whine does he stop, turn around and head back. His face has settled into something approaching concern and he brushes a hand back against her cheek.

“That bad, huh? You know, you should eat instead of just pushing food around your plate and replacing calories with lattes. Tell you what. We’ll go upstairs, get a shower and go out for steaks. Sound like a plan to you?”

Mac is reasonably certain she could eat an entire cow at the moment and she nods, grateful that today’s round of torture on city streets is done. Perhaps they have an advantage as native New Yorkers that their competition simply won’t have. Mac knows she’s not going to win, she’s no professional runner, but she would like to do better than come in last.

That is more than enough motivation for her to shake off Will’s concern, flash him a grin and start running back toward his apartment. She might be quitting for the day but she can do it with her head held high and her pride intact.

This time.

***

“Did you know that Pluto is no longer a planet?”

They’re several months into training now and it’s comfortable enough to Mac that she can sort of talk while she’s running. They’ve added in a whole strength-training routine to this running business and Mac’s limbs are lithe and sleek in a way she’s never been before. She’s toned and she looks and feels amazing. Will looks different too, more confident, and it’s like they’ve woken up somehow and their relationship is better than it’s ever been.

She’s falling in love with him. It’s a problem.

The thing is, Mac’s never actually been in love. She’s thought she was a time or two but now with the very real possibility of being in love with Will McAvoy staring her in the face, she’s scared shitless. She’s scared that she’ll lose him somehow, that she’s not good enough, and every single day that she’s on this race she wants to turn around and go back instead of pressing forward.

Brian’s been ringing her up at odd hours and while a phone call is hardly cheating, Mac feels guilty. She feels like she ought to be telling Will that her ex calls her late at night in a whiskey-soaked voice and begs her to come see him. She hasn’t, yet, but she’s considered it enough that she knows it’s a dangerous thing and it could be the thing that ends this relationship. When she started up with Will, she hadn’t expected to feel this much for him and now she’s caught between the familiar, what she’s used to being and thinking and feeling, and reaching for the brass ring and latching on like she can with Will.

Will doesn’t acknowledge her about the demotion of Pluto but drops his pace a little, just enough that Mac can pull ahead. While she likes to think that it’s because he’s noble and wants her to feel like she’s done better than she has, she knows Will doesn’t think that way. They’re both fiercely competitive and there’s only one reason he’d fall behind when they’re supposed to be pushing themselves to the limit: he wants to watch her.

Mac is inclined to let him.

***

She sleeps with Brian.

It’s the day before the marathon when she should be resting up and eating protein and doing everything possible to be relaxed and feel at her best the next day but she ends up crawling out of bed where Will is next to her, warm and content, and pulls on mismatched clothes to go across town to Brian’s instead. 

He’s drunk and she gets there, licking tequila from every available inch of skin and when she runs out, they start stripping so there’s more. She falls into bed with him as easily as she ever has before and afterward, she just feels sick. Part of her wants it again. Part of her wants to tell Will so he can go ahead and be done with her. Part of her loves Will McAvoy _so damn much_ that she cannot possibly even fathom telling him. The third part wins out and she slinks back to Will’s and showers, trying to let her guilt wash away down the drain with the rest of her hangover.

Her head is splitting by the time the day dawns clear and cold and Will asks her several times if she even wants to go through with it. They don’t have to run the race, they can just go home, et cetera et cetera. Mac waves it off and insists, damnably stubborn, that she wants to run the bloody race. She’s ready. She can do this. Granted, there’s deep purple smudges beneath her eyes from lack of sleep and her stomach’s off and her head is pounding but she can do this. She _will_ do this.

She twists her ankle at the starting line, a sickening pop echoing out that has to be louder in Mac’s head than it is in real life. While everyone else is bolting down the road, reaching for their finish lines, Mac is still stuck at the start. Will lifts her in his arms and carries her to the first aid tent and while Mac expects him to be judgmental and to pepper her with “I told you so,” and “You should have been more careful,” it doesn’t come. Instead, he lowers her into a chair and brushes her hair out of her eyes.

“Clearly someone sabotaged you. Want me to launch a full-scale investigation? I could blow the whole thing wide open.”

Mac laughs, more hollow than she’d like, and wonders if everything will end up all right. Like in this race, she’s stumbled in the race between she and Will and at least in that, she has the luxury of keeping her flub a secret. 

Just this once. Everyone’s entitled to one mistake, yes?


End file.
